Verge

Here. I'm sitting right here, on a sofa not mine, not ours, a red, soft, comfortable sofa which I really don't know whom it belongs to. But I'm sitting on it. No, no. I'm lying on it. The beer can hanging in my hand, ready to spill all of the contained, precious liquid onto the luxury carpet. God. My head's swinging and crashing through the walls of an endless hallway. I take a look at my surroundings, the house is decorated so nice that I wish it was mine. I take another sip from the can and rest my head on the extremely nice arm of the sofa. There are some magazines scattered through the floor. But then, and this is a big, hairy "but" by the way, which is supposed to draw your attention; so many things happen at the same time. It feels like an earthquake. I hear a key turning in the lock. Fuck. Suddenly I remember why I'm here. Everything gets clear by the minute. I hear screams of joy coming from the room next door. A deep state of orgasm can be sensed through the air. Then I remember, fuck I remember... Mr. E. is inside with that girl. Which girl? That girl. The girl from last week. And what am I doing here? Isn't it obvious? I'm riding shotgun. Keeping an eye out, you know. Besides, that's one very nice try at putting "I don't have anything else to do, and you have booze in the house i presume" that way. Everything makes perfect sense but, this manor we are in has a lord and that guy definitely is not Mr. E. I wish that we could own the place, though. The guy is approaching faster than the speed of light. I get up, jet through the room and I step inside the love palace. Mr. E and the lady both do not give a damn about me, I can understand as much from the way they both scream. They really don't give a damn, not until I grab Mr. E by his shoulders and whisper;

"Yo, E., the guy's here."

"The guy? Who?"

"The lord of the manor idiot, the fucking King Henry the fucking 8th or something"

My eyes sweep through the room like the man would storm in any minute to beat the crap out of us with a cock-shaped iron bar.

"So what?" He is laughing terribly and the crazy hysteria gets its hold of me. We both crumble by the bed as the not-so-gracious-now lady gets her clothes while she runs into the bathroom.

He asks if I've got any beer with me, this makes me laugh even more, then I pass the can to Mr. E. As he drinks the booze we both cock our ears just to hear the approaching footsteps with an annoying yell; "Honey! I'm home."

I turn to Mr. E. "How many guys still shout 'Honey I'm home' when they get in?"

"Only those with ladies this beautiful and houses this great I suppose" We stick with laughing, still sitting beside the bed. He goes on; "You know that if we beat up the guy, we shall be arrested and charged for breaking and entering, too, right?"

"Yeah I know. But I won't let him touch us anyway, especially in your naked, I-just-had-sex-I'm-so-sensible-right-know state. "

"Oh, nice reminder" He barely puts all of his clothes on right when the door opens slowly.

The guy is a fat douchebag. I can notice a douchebag where ever I see one. This one's a douchebag, that's for sure. Short length, overweight, the remainders of useless hours spent in a gym, money earned not by brains, but silver spoons up in an ass, ah come on, the fucking man even has flowers in his hand. I just want to ask; "Who were you fucking tonight just as your wife was wrecking the brains out of Mr. E.?"

All three of us look at each other. Then we start running. Through the balcony door and onto the wet grass, cold night air and so many other beautiful things I can't remember now. We're laughing so loud that every bit of it reminds me of the God that created us.(*)





(*) Quoted from 'Verge of Breakdown', some scribbling I scrabbled. Still It turned out to be nice, I suppose.